


To Be My Own Mistress

by Euryale000



Category: The Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euryale000/pseuds/Euryale000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little PWP set after the end of series 2. You know you needed them to get it on ;)</p>
<p>Denise has recently opened her cosmetics shop across the street from the Paradise. As she establishes herself, she can establish more with Moray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be My Own Mistress

Dusk was beginning to fall. Denise sat at the table in the room behind her cosmetics shop working through her ledger, illuminated by an oil lamp and one of the last beams of evening sun. Her sense was that she had done quite well in this first week with her own shop, particularly considering how daring some of the products she was offering were. She had yet to figure out, however, precisely what her returns had been. 

The chime above the front door startled her. “Denise?” Moray’s voice called out to her. She relaxed. 

“I’m in the back,” she replied.

“You really should lock the door if you’re not in the shop,” he chided. 

“I thought I had. Would you do the bolt for me?”

“Of course.” 

Moray ducked through the doorway into the back room and watched as Denise tallied her column of figures. She wore an expression of concentration and mumbled a few numbers to herself. The last glints of sunlight glanced off of her hair and illuminated the brocade of her blue shopkeeper’s gown. She finished what she was doing, put her pencil down, and smiled up at him to find a look of deep affection on his face. 

“Are you quite a success, then?” Moray asked.

“Well, I’m no overnight sensation,” she replied. “Though that’s for the best. Those types of fashions evaporate as quickly as they come on.” Denise stood, stacked her papers together and came to stand before Moray. He took her hands in his. She continued excitedly. “But I think I am doing terribly well for my first week, and with such specialized merchandise. Oh, John, it is so wonderful to be my own mistress. Thank you for pushing me to do it.” Her eyes glittered. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you so happy,” John pulled her to him and pressed a kiss to her lips. Denise returned his kiss eagerly. 

The sun was down now and its light was fading fast from the sky. By the time their lips parted, there was little but the glow of the lamp to see each other by. 

“Kiss me again, John,” Denise asked. John obliged. He pressed her body to his and his kisses became tinged with hunger. Denise felt the spark kindle within her that often flared when they were alone together and always came when he kissed her. She held his face in her hands and dropped kisses across his cheeks and eyes and forehead while his hands ranged up and down her back and he inhaled deeply of her scent. 

With a sort of growl, John reclaimed her mouth with his. Their tongues slid together and the little flame within her grew. A soft sound escaped her and he crushed her closer. His hands slid lower now over her hips. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase in his hair and she kissed him wantonly as his touch thrilled her. He pressed a hand against her behind and she inhaled sharply. He bent to kiss her neck and her breath came in heaves. 

The hand on her bottom slid down to her thigh and he lifted her leg up to his own hip. Balancing now on one leg, she hooked the other behind him to steady herself. He pulled his face far enough from hers to look into her eyes and see the desire there and then with a little “oh,” his mouth came to hers again and his arms tightened across her back and under her bum. His fingers dug into the material of her dress and he shifted his weight. She felt that she would surely collapse into him but then his hips thrust up into hers, rocking her back onto her standing leg. Flame was too little a word for the feeling inside her now. It was more properly a blaze. He held her still and thrust against her again. 

John knew he had to get a grip on himself. His cock was straining against the front of his trousers and it desperately wanted release, but he knew that that couldn’t be. He wasn’t sure how he managed to make the effort, but he disengaged her leg from his hip and set her back to the floor. He leaned his forehead against hers and noticed that he was sweating. His breath was ragged. 

“Oh, Denise! I want so terribly much to make love to you. Would that we could be married tonight. Now.”

Denise was still. She pulled out of his embrace and his heart plummeted. She took a step back. Then another. Her eyes not leaving his. Moray was frozen to the spot. She turned, covered the last few steps to the window and drew the curtains. She returned to him, took his face in her hands and kissed him again. Relief flooded through him and he gathered her to him with desperate kisses. Finding a hidden reserve of self-control, he slowed their kisses, stopped them, and leaned his forehead again against hers, fighting for the breath to speak. 

“There are ways,” he began “of enjoying ourselves, of making love, that would not compromise your virtue. That would not… risk a child.” Moray swallowed hard, afraid that he had said too much, presumed too much. But there was no way back, the only way through was forward. “Some of these ways are so intimate,” He trailed off, then resumed with a voice barely above a whisper. “So intimate that husbands and wives often do not even dare to attempt them. You would learn half the secrets of the marriage bed, but not all…Denise, let me show you.”

“Yes,” her answer came before he had finished speaking. 

She kissed him with abandon and he responded in kind. His hands rose from her waist over the swell of her breasts to the hooks at the neck of her dress. He opened them one, two, three, exposing her throat so that he could kiss the tender flesh there. Four, five, six, seven and her collarbones were under his lips. The overdress blocked further progress, so he undid the buttons on the side and pushed it off of her shoulders. Eight, ten, twelve, fourteen and the dress was open to the waist. John rained kisses upon her breasts and helped her maneuver her arms out of the sleeves. 

Her arms came back to him, sliding underneath his open jacket. He laid his head against her bosom and spoke with a thick voice, “Take it off of me,” Her hands slid up over his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms and the jacket fell to the floor. He looked at her and found her eyes dark with desire. 

“Take off my necktie,” Her nimble fingers worked at the knot for a moment and she discarded it with the jacket. 

“Take off my vest,” This she did without moving her eyes from his. 

“Give me your hand,”

He brought her hand to the fall of his trousers, ran it up and down so that she could feel the dimensions of what lay within. “This is the engine of my love for you. Take it out.” She undid the buttons and pulled the ends of his shirt out from the waist of his trousers. Her hand went immediately back to his rampant cock and she weighed it in her palm. She drew her hand up his length and he released a breath he had not realized he was holding. She did it again, drawing the skin up over the tip and back down. She liked the little sound that he made and so she did it again. She ran her thumb over the head of his cock and he made another noise. She did it faster. He kissed her, groaning into her mouth. She kept moving and he kept kissing her, panting for breath between kisses. She liked this feeling. She felt powerful. She learned which strokes got which noises from him. 

He bent his head to her shoulder gasping open mouthed against her skin. “Stop,” he murmured, “you must stop.” She did, afraid that she had done something wrong, but he buried his face in her bosom, unhooked the first few clasps of the basque holding her corset closed and, teasing one breast out, set his lips to her nipple, thrilling a moan from her.

John led her to the settee. “Sit,” She did. He knelt before her and laid a kiss between her breasts, pressing her back onto the pillows. His hands slipped under her hem and he ran them up over her legs, raising her skirt and petticoats to her waist. She wore no drawers under her shift. John nuzzled his cheek against her thigh and kissed it. He began to kiss down her leg, pausing at the knee to untie her garter. He rolled her stocking down slowly, tracing his progress with his lips. He undid the laces of her boot and pulled it off, tossed it away. Her stocking followed and he paused to kiss her ankle, the top of her foot. 

Denise felt that she had forgotten how to breathe. She wanted to burst out of her skin, flaming as it was with so many sensations. Her breath had become heavy and she reached her arms behind her, one to grasp the edge of the settee, the other to fix itself in her hair. She willed herself to remain still. To not leap up and do she did not know what. 

John removed her other boot and rolled down the second stocking with less care than the first. He kissed his way down to her foot and took her toes in his mouth eliciting a sharp intake of breath somewhere above his head. He glanced up to see her head thrown back and eyes closed and he could delay no further. He nudged her legs further apart, setting one up on the edge of the settee. Intoxicated by her scent and mesmerized by her heaving breaths, John brought his lips to her most sensitive parts. 

Denise cried out, so overcome with sensation and emotion that she felt that she would lose herself. John worked his tongue against her, sliding through her folds, teasing against her entrance, and coming back up to flick against the little button at the top. Denise arched her back, rising up off of the settee, little sounds spilling from her at each new touch. John stretched an arm up across her body to steady her. His hand found her breast and he ran his thumb around and across her nipple. 

He felt drunk. He could no longer think, he only knew that he needed more of her. He buried his face between her legs trying to touch every part of her with his lips and tongue, trying to taste every part of her. He jerked his hips against the air, his jutting cock straining for what it could not have. He dropped his free hand to it and stroked once, twice, before deciding that it was too dangerous. He didn’t want to finish like that. 

Denise’s hand came to clasp the hand he had on her breast. He released it and twined her fingers in his. She had a grip like iron. Her other hand came to his head, first to push him away to keep herself from drowning and then, as soon as his lips left her cunt, she pulled him back again. Feeling so much was unbearable, but the only thing worse was not to feel it. John moaned against her. He could hardly breathe but it did not matter. All that mattered was this. Her trembling, her sighing, her holding on to him as though her life depended on it. 

Suddenly, she went stiff and silent, and then her body began to pulse against him, a great keening escaping her lips. She had crested the wave, her body was being wracked upon the shore and all that she could do was float atop like the foam. John did not stop his ministrations. He slowed for a moment and then resumed so that another tidal wave took her, and then another, then another. Finally she was exhausted and fell back, boneless. 

She slid to the floor on her knees, mirroring Moray. She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply. She could taste herself on his tongue, feel her own moisture in his beard. She was coming to him sated, but he still kissed her with a passionate hunger. She could feel his hard cock still rising between them. She took it in her hand and then sat back on her heels to look at him. Her hair had half fallen down, her eyes were wide and dark, her skin flushed, her lips swollen and parted. He thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

For his part, John looked wild. His hair was tousled and his face was taut, that of a man restraining himself up to his breaking point. He swallowed, then spoke, “Would you do the same,” His eyes closed for fear of her refusal, “for me?” Denise ran her hand up his cock once and then leaned her face close to it. She pressed a kiss to the top of it and John shuddered. “Take it in your mouth,” She did, and ran her tongue over the soft skin. She pulled off and then closed her mouth over it again. The ridge under the head was on her tongue and so she teased at it. John’s head fell back. Denise continued, wrapping a hand around the shaft and stroking as she did so. She left off and then ran her tongue from the root of his shaft all of the way up the underside to the tip. “Yes,” John hissed. “Stir my stones,” he gasped, “please!” 

By now John’s body was arched back like a bow, his weight supported on his hands, his head thrown back. Denise slid a hand up his chest, tangling her fingers in the soft hair there. In her other hand she weighed his sack. She shifted its contents one way and then the other and John trembled against her, whimpering at each touch. She returned her mouth to the head of his cock and John could feel himself tumble towards the edge, his own climax now an inevitability. With great effort, he brought a hand forward under her chin to pull her lips off of him and tilt her face so that he could look into her eyes. Denise paused. “Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice rough. Her hands resumed their caresses. Her eyes were locked into his and in them she saw complete abandon. The rigid control had left him and he was simply open and bare, a man riding sensation as helplessly as she had. She saw him shudder and fracture before her. His cock jerked in her hand and she was surprised but fascinated by the hot spurts that shot forth from it. She continued to stroke, more and more slowly, as his body and his breathing calmed. 

They held each other in their arms. His head rested on her shoulder. Everything melted away from them and they subsided down to the floor. John cradled Denise against his side and she laid her head on his chest. There was nothing but the breath that the two of them shared. John traced a finger across Denise’s arm, over the exposed flesh of her bosom. His touch was light and gentle. 

After a time, Denise raised herself up on one elbow to look down at him. She brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and smiled. “And that’s not even the whole of it?” she asked. John laughed, “No, my love. Far from it.” He drew her face down for a kiss. “I have to go, my darling.” Denise’s brow furrowed. He smoothed his hand across it and took her mouth in another kiss. “I have to. If I don’t go now, I never will. And if I’m seen leaving your shop in the morning in the same clothes I’m wearing today… I couldn’t take that risk to your reputation.” 

Denise pulled herself up off of the floor and offered a hand to Moray. He took it, kissed it, and pulled himself up as well. They came together for a long kiss as his hands skimmed over her shoulders. He lifted up the fabric of her bodice, hanging as it was from her waist, and helped her arms back into their sleeves. She did not bother buttoning it up. He tucked himself away in his trousers, tucked in his shirttails, and did up the buttons. Denise retrieved his vest from the floor and helped him into it, doing up the buttons and arranging the watch. She tried to do up his necktie, but she wasn’t sure how. She laughed at the particularly terrible knot she had made. He slipped his hands under hers and quickly tied it correctly. She held out his jacket for him. 

“You look quite respectable, Mr. Moray,” she said, straightening his seams, “Not at all like you’ve been tumbling with a shopgirl.” He held her close and kissed her smile. “I wish I could say the same for you,” he teased. “It’s alright,” she replied, “the only person who will see me is you.” Her face became suddenly serious and she leaned close, kissed his eyelids, then his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I don’t think I can see you tomorrow,” Moray said. Denise stiffened with confusion and looked at him apprehensively. “I don’t think I could look at you without grinning like a fool.” She met his eyes to see them dancing. The grin in question spread across his face. “And then the jig would be up!” She laughed and caressed his cheek. “Tomorrow night, then. Will you come to me?” “Oh, Denise, I fear myself. I do not wish to press you too much. I want more of you and more and more.” “Then get us a marriage license. First thing. Do it straight away.” “Even with the license it will be weeks before we can marry.” “Yes, but once we have it, those weeks will only get shorter. I love you, John. I want all of you that I can have.” “Yes, I will.” 

They kissed their goodbyes long and lingering. Their lips clung together, loath to part. Denise pressed him towards the door. “Goodnight, my love. ‘Till tomorrow. And don’t you dare come back without that license!” Moray smiled at her, pressed one last kiss to her lips, and slipped out into the night.


End file.
